


Dirty Little Secret (Who Has To Know?)

by blipintiime, cxptained



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Crack, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Ianto might murder someone, Jack being Jack, Love Bites, M/M, POV Owen Harper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:21:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25513465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blipintiime/pseuds/blipintiime, https://archiveofourown.org/users/cxptained/pseuds/cxptained
Summary: “See, Jack could already be infected.” Ianto says and Jack removes his hand from his mouth to nod.“He’s right. We had such a rough night last night. I think I might have infected Ianto. Kept him up all night last night coughing. He barely got any sleep.” Jack says in that dramatic sort of tone that Owen can never decipher if it’s truthful. But his eyes seem earnest so Owen simply sighs and tries not to think about how it makes no sense for Ianto protect him from the bloody common cold if Jack’s going to sit there and be perfectly happy to breathe all over him.“Maybe if you two spent less time snogging in the office.” Owen simply grumbles and Jack lets out a laugh of sorts.-----------------------It's the Torchwood yearly physical. Every operative gets a full looking over by their resident medic, Owen Harper. Except Ianto. Ianto doesn't want his physical. Let's find out why... and why Jack might banned from the bedroom for at least a week.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Comments: 4
Kudos: 111





	Dirty Little Secret (Who Has To Know?)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princessoftheworlds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessoftheworlds/gifts).



> Hey everyone! Thanks for clicking. Hopefully this fic gives you a laugh! As always everything Ianto Jones is written by blipintiime!
> 
> Thanks to the Bloody Torchwood server for once again fuelling me with stupid ideas, and Nik especially for being the main driving force behind this one!

“So, why, _pray tell_ , can’t you have your physical today, Ianto?” Owen asks with a less than unimpressed tone as he takes a vial of blood from one, shirtless, Jack Harkness.

It’s the annual Torchwood Three physical. One of Owen’s least favourite days of the year, besides Corpse Day, because it’s his _busiest_. He has to examine each operative in full, take their bloods, examine them and diagnose all in one day. And here’s Ianto Jones, trying to do his damn hardest to drag it out for longer.

Jack shifts on the metal table, toned muscles having an annoyingly perfect ripple effect to them, as Owen removes the needle point and examines the reserve. He’s not sure why he still tests Jack each year because, as now expected, he’s never come back in anything but the peak of health with a little smidgen of alien DNA – now that he knows that’s what he’s looking at anyway. Honestly, he hates himself for never having picked up on it before.

“Just not feeling great.” Ianto folds his arms over his chest almost defensively and responds with a cough that clears his throat. Owen immediately raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “Probably a cold or something, but I wouldn’t want you to get ill. No sense having two of down.”

Placing the vial into his storage for testing that afternoon, Owen unhooks the stethoscope that dangles so stereotypically around his neck and holds it in both hands. “You can’t have a check-up because you _don’t feel well_ despite the fact that I’m supposed to be checking on your _health_?” Owen asks. “Ianto, I hope you understand how ridiculous that sounds.” He says.

Behind the medic Jack coughs suddenly and Owen twists quickly to face him

“See, Jack could already be infected.” Ianto says and Jack removes his hand from his mouth to nod.

“He’s right. We had such a _rough_ night last night. I think I might have infected Ianto. Kept him up all night last night coughing. He barely got any sleep.” Jack says in that dramatic sort of tone that Owen can never decipher if it’s truthful. But his eyes seem earnest so Owen simply sighs and tries not to think about how it makes no sense for Ianto protect him from the bloody common cold if Jack’s going to sit there and be perfectly happy to breathe all over him.

“Maybe if you two spent less time snogging in the office.” Owen simply grumbles and Jack lets out a laugh of sorts.

Ianto makes a grab for a folder sitting nearby, his eyebrow raises in that way that makes Owen want to punch him in the face. It’s the look he gets when he’s done something wrong by Ianto’s insane organisational practises.

“And since this looks to be the report from _last week’s_ crashed ship, I should _really_ get to filing it.” Ianto says in that tone that makes Owen want to punch him even more. He shoos Ianto away and sticks the stethoscope into his ears roughly, using Jack’s heartbeat to drown out the bullshit.

* * *

“Look left.” Owen instructs Gwen as he watches how her eyes focus. “And right.” He says, nodding at the results. Gwen happens to be the last operative on the table today – except Ianto – and he’s ready to finish. His back aches from hunching over them all day and he hasn’t sat down since he left his car.

God, he hates annual physical day.

“Weevil!” Tosh says from somewhere above the medbay, Owen assumes she’s at her desk. “At the castle. Multiple police reports with witnesses saying they saw a ‘large, rabid dog attacking the wildlife’. Sounds like a Weevil.”

Owen raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t know what dogs these people have seen but Fido doesn’t stand on two legs.” He mutters, amused. Gwen laughs, her shoulders shaking.

“Ianto! With me!” Jack calls and Owen hears the noise of a gun being caught, the metal hitting skin.

“Uh, excuse me?!” Owen shouts like a teacher gaining the attention of a rowdy class. Ianto’s form appears at the railing above him, tucking the weapon into his suit. “Too sick for a physical but you can go chase down a weevil?

“Did say I was _too_ sick. Just that I didn’t want to pass anything on to you – and Weevils don’t get colds.” Ianto says, matter of fact, expression unchanging despite the berating he receives.

“If I was worried about catching the common cold, I wouldn’t be a bloody doctor.” Owen snaps but Ianto’s already gone.

He brings his gaze back down to Gwen though, shaking his head.

“But it’s fine. Never mind… _never mind_. Just don’t come crying to me when you keel over from some hidden disease I could have spotted.” Owen mutters beneath his breath, the rolling of his eyes so strong it spikes a pain in his sinuses.

“Bit harsh don’t you think?” Gwen says, a little entertained by his constant foul moods.

“You, shut up. We’ve discovered you’re iron deficient today because you didn’t think to tell me you started feelings like crap a month ago.” He chastises. “I’m twat, but I’m still a medic.”

* * *

“Owen!” Jack yells so loudly that Owen almost drops the vial of blood he’s examining in shock. “ _Owen!_ ” His name is called again, more violently this time and it’s accompanied by grunts and groans and another body making noises of pain.

“Med bay!” Owen shouts back.

The captain must have come into view up above because Gwen and Tosh immediately fling their chairs back and get to their feet. Owen makes the stairs, taking two at a time. He only gets half way up before Jack’s face comes into view. He’s red and distressed. He’s breathing heavily and Ianto is clutched to his side, his arm over Jack’s shoulder.

The Welshman’s fingers clutch at the thick material of Jack’s coat, knuckles turning near white as he tries to help Jack keep him upright.

“Gwen, Tosh! Go to Cardiff Castle. Shoot and kill that Weevil.” Jack orders, swallowing hard. They’re gone before Jack can tell them twice.

“Jesus Christ, what happened?” Owen asks. He sprints the rest of the way up

“Caught— _AH_!” Ianto lets out a cry of pain through clenched teeth as Owen takes his other arm puts it around his shoulder to stabilise him. It’s then that Owen notices show the side not pressed against Jack is stained dark crimson, how it spreads through across his back. Owen looks properly and he can see the jagged wounds, left so obviously by Weevil claws, through the tears of Ianto’s shirt.

“Sorry.” Owen says. He means it.

“Caught me off guard…” Ianto tries again as they stumble down the rest of the steep steps in awkward threesome. To this day, Owen stull curses whoever signed off on this layout.

“It got him from behind, his back’s a mess.” Jack informs.

Once they reach the bottom, Owen lets go of Ianto. He moves to get his instruments and supplies again, quickly disinfecting what he needs.

“Get him on the table.” Owen orders.

“Come on, I’ve gotcha.” Jack says, a gentle honey slipping into his voice. It’s not reserved only for Ianto, Owen’s heard it for every team member in the Hub including himself, but there’s a way he acts with Ianto that can’t be described.

“ _Shit._ ” Ianto says, breathy and not supported by his vocal chords as the movement pulls a pained gasp from his body. Owen turns around to see the captain carefully heaving him onto the slab the best he can.

There’s a fear in Jack’s eyes as he looks to Ianto, now semi-settled on the table, that Owen never sees unless a situation is dire. The team is tough enough to get through your average Weevil attack. It sucks, sure. It’s hurts, sure. But Jack rarely has to be so concerned for their safety. Whatever happened out there must have been something vicious. Jack has his hand on Ianto’s knee, surveying him with quiet concern. Ianto’s own grip hasn’t left his captain either, merely having shifted from his shoulder to his sleeve.

It’s almost… sweet.

“Alright, shirt off mate. Need to see those wounds.”

Ianto moves, fingers of his free ready to undo the buttons of his shirt but he stops suddenly in his tracks.

“Can’t I…” Ianto inhales slowly through his teeth. His gaze flickers to Jack momentarily in what looks like… panic? “My shirt is torn can’t you just… look at it through the tear?” He asks, eyes finding the ceiling as he visibly quells a groan of pain.

Ianto Jones what the hell are you playing at, man?

“If you want me to stitch your shirt into your skin when I close up your wounds then yeah, _sure_.” Owen says, sarcasm just dripping from that tone. He pulls on a pair of gloves and tears open an antibacterial wipe quickly. “Seriously, Ianto. Shirt.” He insists.

But they’ve come to a grinding halt and the urgency they came into the Hub with has all but dissipated now as they all look around at each other in a blank sort of fashion. Owen glances to Jack, hoping for a little help.

“Ianto…” Jack says in a lower but still gentle tone, giving Ianto’s knee a slight squeeze.

Great Jack, thanks. That was incredibly forceful.

Ianto drops his hand from his shirt completely, giving the smallest shake of his head. Owen watches as the Welshman’s eyes flutter shut for a moment, clearly attempting to breathe and steady himself through the pain.

“It’s nothing.” Ianto says, but he’s not convincing in the slightest for he has to speak slowly and around the tensing of his own jaw. He looks between the two of other men. “I’m sure it’s just a scratch or something. Just give me some sort of antibiotic and I’ll do it myself.” He finishes with a shrug. It’s accompanied by a flinch and a sharp breath.

This is stupid.

“Ianto, you’re hurt. Just take your shirt off, Owen’s not going to care.” Jack insists this time and there’s a tone to his voice isn’t playing around. It can hardly be called an _order_ but it’s not something to be denied.

On the flip side, what the hell was that supposed to mean?

For a long, silent moment Ianto simply stares at Jack. Has he wandered into some sort of weird boss and employee domestic? He hates it, whatever’s happening. And then Ianto’s fingers are moving once again and Owen almost lets out a dramatic sigh as Ianto works the buttons down his shirt. It drops to the floor and Ianto’s eye contact vanishes.

And now Owen knows why Ianto denied his physical this morning.

“I thought the Weevil got your back?” Owen blurts out, the question tumbling from his lips before he can stop it. And honestly? He’s not even sorry.

He’s staring now at a wall of bruises across Ianto’s torso with an infinity of scratches to match. Owen could try and convince himself that, those too, had come from the Weevil. But it’s undeniable. There are too many fingers and not enough depth. The bruises are dark; formed hours ago.

 _That_ is the product of _something_ and the way that Ianto looks like he’d rather have died to the Weevil than have had Owen see this means he doesn’t have to guess too hard what it is. But he doesn’t want to think about the exact actions that took place, nor where in Hub it had taken place either. And anyway, one look to Jack’s face where the captain is doing a frankly awful job of keeping that smug smirk of pride (gross, Jack) out of his expression and Owen has all the proof he needs.

Please let them have kept their hijinks out of the greenhouse this time. It’s all he’s asking.

At least Ianto doesn’t seem so smug. In fact, the look on his face is near indescribably. Is it embarrassment? Fear? The acceptance of death? For a brief moment Owen realises he’s actually considering it as he makes to move off the medical table.

“Right, nope.” He declares, glaring at Jack. He can’t look at Owen apparently.

“Hey, _no._ ” Jack says, his hand coming in solid against the mess that is Ianto’s chest as he stops the man from making his escape.

“Look, sorry, alright? Sorry… no comments about how you look like you have a fight with a vacuum cleaner and lost.” Owen teases with a snigger. Oh, what? It was right there. Literally.

Jack shoots him a look that screams _not now_ and Owen puts his hands in the air in surrender, still clutching about his equipment.

“No more, no more. Scout’s honour.” He says

Owen’s never been a scout in his life.

“Just do what you need to so I can go.” Ianto says coldly, his gaze fixated on the railing that overlooks the med bay.

They fall into a rather _uncomfortable_ silence and Ianto drags a hand down his face with a groan. Somehow, Owen doesn’t think it has much to do with the pain.

While there are a multitude of jokes the medic could make, he should also be focusing on the gaping wounds in Ianto’s back before anything else and they’ve already wasted five minutes over an indescribable number of _hickeys_.

So, he sets about cleaning out the scratches and tears of the skin, removing debris and dirt left behind by deadly claws and tries to work around Ianto’s unavoidable flinches as he probes around beneath skin. Gauze is fixed over the simplest of wounds. It’s not a short process and Owen notes how Jack now has one hand on his partner’s shoulder and the other still pressed against his chest as though a break for it may still be made.

Then again, the look on Ianto’s face suggests that’s not necessarily a wacky idea.

He steps away from a moment and cleanses his mind of love bites and deep finger marked bruising as he puts together a numbing agent so he can stitch up the worst of the wounds.

“Just a little prick.” Owen says but as he turns back around to face the patient he gets an eyeful of his torso once again.

 _‘Although you’re clearly into that sort of thing.’_ Owen thinks to himself, trying not to laugh.

“Don’t.” Ianto warns without turning to look. For a second, Owen thinks he may be in the midst of a mind reader but the Welshman adds on to his own statement. “Or I will have no qualms killing one, or both, of you.”

Jack’s mouth falls closed, Owen spots at the last second and pulls a face that resembles a kid watching their sibling get told off for something _they_ did.

He injects the numbing agent into Ianto’s back and his teeth clamp down against his lip before it works his magic. It’s then that Owen feels Ianto allow himself to lean _ever_ so slightly into Jack’s hands.

Bloody softies. It’s gross.

Owen works until his back aches once again from hunching in an awkward position, stitching Ianto up until he’s good as new. Finally, he finishes and takes a step back with blood covered gloves but a job well done.

“Right.” He says as he admires his handiwork before stepping around to the front of the other two men. “Job done. Though, I recommend no _strenuous_ activity for a few days in case you pop a stitch.” He says pointedly and, he tries to say it without laughing, really he does, but it snakes through his voice and he folds within seconds.

It takes a few moments to compose himself and when he does, there’s still hilarity in his voice.

“Oh. Ianto, mate… next time you and Jack go a bit ham, don’t do it on physical day and don’t get yourself almost eaten by a Weevil cause _this_ ,” Owen gestures to Ianto’s front, “is TMI.”

The look he gets is worth it. A glowering rage if there ever was one as his head turns sharply in his direction. It doesn’t last long as his head falls into his hands, the heels of his palms pressing firmly into closed eyes.

“Jack, if you could do me a favour and retcon Doctor Harper—” Ianto says. Is he kidding? Owen can’t actually tell. A look of fear passes over the doctor’s expression.

“Not exactly protocol.” Jack responds as the tell-tale audio of the cog door opening echoes through the Hub. Still, Owen isn’t exactly reassured by the response Jack gave. He’ll be drip testing his coffee for a week…

Ianto seems eager to cover himself up but with his shirt on the floor in tatters there’s not much Owen can offer. Jack notices too and shrugs off his coat, helping Ianto wrap it around himself as Gwen peaks over the railing at the top of the medbay.

“Blimey Ianto! That Weevil messed you up good and proper!” She calls down. Ianto pulls the coat onto his frame, quickly closing it at the front with both hands.

Owen knows she has no clue that it was his back that the Weevil attacked. But he’s almost smart enough not to say a word to Gwen to correct her, lest he wish to be chemically testing his coffee for a _month_. Instead he turns away to pack his things, his eyes wide and his lips pressed tightly together to stop himself from laughing out loud.

“I do _actually_ hate you, I hope you know that.” Ianto says and Owen risks a glance of his shoulder. He can’t tell whether the phrase is directed at him or at Jack, who looks part way amused, and part way endeared.

But yet, Owen watches as Ianto keeps the coat of his boyfriend held tight around him, and it’s not _only_ to keep his chest hidden from view. Is it?

As long as they keep the romance out of his greenhouse.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you got a good giggle out of this.


End file.
